


tie you down so you can float away

by alongthewatchtower



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Dominance/submission, M/M, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongthewatchtower/pseuds/alongthewatchtower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes a very pretty work of art. But it's more than that, for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tie you down so you can float away

**Author's Note:**

> so, [yourssincerelylarry](http://www.yourssincerelylarry.tumblr.com/) made a gorgeous [manip](http://yourssincerelylarry.tumblr.com/post/94824024013/) of Harry in rope bondage, and I couldn't resist. this started as a picture caption on the [porncaption blog](http://www.downinpantyalley.tumblr.com/) that got a little out of hand. oops.

Louis never told Harry where he learned his skill with rope.

Harry had admitted that maybe sometimes he'd like to be tied up, had bookmarked pages for Louis to look at. He hadn't been able to meet Louis' eye when he'd mentioned it that first time, but Louis had gone out and returned with coiled lengths of black rope - _linen_ , he'd explained, watching Harry pull it through his fingers.  _Twisted linen, because it's exceptionally soft_. These days, they've got other coils as well; the natural-looking hemp braid and jute twists that are strong, load-bearing ropes capable of suspending Harry from the hook in the playroom of their London house, a shiny white polyester blend that's always stiff and scratchy against his skin and leaves deep imprints, the smooth, 8-strand braided nylon they have in both red and black. There's different ropes for different scenes, and Harry's starting to learn which is which.

Louis smiles a secretive smile when asked, but Harry knows Louis learned his skill _from_ someone - he'd be jealous of the hours Louis must have spent learning how to tie _someone else_ if he didn't know Louis did so just for  _him._

Sometimes, when they play, when Louis spends an hour carefully twisting the red linen rope around Harry's body, when he takes twenty-odd metres of rope and slowly, carefully loops it around Harry's body, transforming him. Louis starts at his wrists, gives Harry one end of the rope to hold between his palms, and Harry laces his fingers together obediently, silently, utterly pliant as Louis loops rope around his wrists and then over the hook in the low ceiling. There's no knots, only loops and twists and frictions as Louis twists the rope back on itself until it bites and catches, until Harry is bound by nothing more than clever twists that don't tighten even if Harry decides to struggle. He doesn't, because that's not the point of this, but Louis asked him to the first few times, until he was satisfied that the lines were safe, that the criss-cross of red across Harry's chest, the two lines around Harry's throat wouldn't tighten no matter how he moved.

Louis tells Harry this is called _shibari,_ and these times it's not about Harry, or Harry's pleasure - even though Harry's cock hardens at the sensation of rope sliding over his skin, Louis isn't tying him up to fuck him, though he's awfully fond of getting Harry off when he's tied up. Sometimes, Louis will look at Harry, desire plain on his face, and he'll wrap a hand around Harry's cock and jack him in tight, even strokes, Harry's muscles twitching in their bondage as he comes over his own stomach, tanned skin and black rope. But the point of these times isn't Harry's need to be still, to not be in control - these times, he's not bound and _helpless,_ he's bound and _a_ _work of art_.

Other times, like today, when Harry's tense with the pressure of fan expectation and press attention and his own need to be the best performer he can possibly be, night after night -

"We'll get the blue bag out when we get back to the hotel," Louis says softly, hand warm on the back of Harry's neck, unseen in the press of fans and security as they move between the TV studio - _so you're single, Harry? what do you look for in a girl? were you seeing that woman you were photographed walking next to last week? what do you say to this magazine article that says you're a surrogate father to your makeup artist’s child? -_ and the line of waiting SUVs.

"Please," Harry says, and it should be inaudible, an almost-whisper amongst the screaming, but Louis squeezes his neck softly before letting go, and Harry knows he's been heard.

Later, when they're safely in the hotel room, Harry strips down for a shower and when he emerges, every part of him carefully dry, he comes to kneel in front of Louis, naked, eyes catching on the coiled length on Louis' lap as he sits on the bed. The rope is black, pretty braided nylon about ten metres long, judging by the number of coils. Tonight, this is what is called _kinbaku._  Louis might say it's beautiful, but what he creates with Harry’s body won’t be solely about art.

"Please," Harry repeats, and it's the only word he's said since they left the television studio.

"Stand up," Louis says quietly, and the sight of his smile is enough for the tension Harry's been carrying for weeks to feel suddenly less.

Louis stands, and starts by placing the end of the rope in Harry's left hand. Harry shivers.

"Be still for me," Louis says, and Harry swallows, would nod his head but he's going to be _still_ , he's going to be quiet because there's no need for him to speak here in this place, in this safe space in his head where he doesn’t have to worry, where he can go and know that Louis is giving him what he needs.

Louis runs the rope up the length of Harry's arm, stopping at his bicep to make the first loop. He takes the end from Harry's hand and twists another loop with the length of the rope, and Harry watches as Louis ties a flat, square knot that rests on the inside of Harry's arm. Louis leans in and kisses the skin just above his first knot. "Such a good boy," he says, and Harry feels the warmth of contentment flutter in his chest.

Louis makes quick work of Harry's arm, a few more loops that catch as the free end of the rope is drawn through them, as the rope bites back on itself and creates decorative little twists that look like knots, each strip of skin awakened by the touch of the rope. The loop that runs vertically around his shoulder and under his armpit is secured with a proper knot that won't pull tight even when Louis tugs at it with two fingers, checks the give.

Louis kisses Harry's shoulderblade, just beside the knot, and Harry's skin tingles at the press of lips, the spot feeling warm long after Louis has moved onto Harry's chest, criss-crossing the rope over his pectoral muscles. Harry stands relaxed, serious eyes following Louis' every movement and hoping that he's accurately able to convey with his submission that each knot makes Harry's trust deeper and easier to give. There's the briefest press of fingers on the insides of Harry's biceps, and he lifts his arms obligingly, holding them straight out at right-angles from his body so Louis can duck around him easily.

"You're being so good for me," Louis whispers into his skin, and Harry's chest gets warmer. There's no pressure here, no expectations, just the sensation of fingers and rope sliding over his skin, Louis weaving his love and support into intricate diamond patterns over Harry's torso, over his heart, keeping him safe. The rope only spans the length of his ribcage - ending just above his bellybutton and not creeping up as far as his swallow tattoos, and Louis checks every knot and friction twist with careful fingers.

"There you go, love," Louis says, pressing a kiss over the knot in the centre of Harry's back, and he puts his arms down, almost sad when Louis moves onto his right shoulder, when he ties the same knot there that won't tighten, when he starts to loop around Harry's right arm. It's almost over, this ritual of theirs, the feeling of knowing he's the sole focus of Louis' careful attention. Harry knows he doesn’t get to float away just yet, doesn’t get to truly give himself over - he has to stay up, stay aware, because they have a show. Harry has responsibilities still, even with the gift Louis is giving him, and he can’t go _down_ entirely.

Louis twists the end of the rope into the same flat, square knot as the one that sits on his other arm, and kisses the skin right next to his work. There's two inches or so spare, falling against the skin on the inside of Harry's bicep almost like an afterthought, but Harry knows it's deliberate. Until he gets dressed, Harry's going to be able to curl a hand around that loose end, going to be able to pull and twist and tug and revel in the way the rope stays firm against his body. When he twists the movement spreads through all the ropes, over his back, his shoulders, his arms, holding him safe, secure and protected. Louis has placed the bonds against his skin and they'll stay there, immovable, until Louis himself decides to undo them.

Louis adjusts himself almost absently in his pants, and Harry realises that he's hard.

"Can I?" he asks, hand abruptly releasing the loose end of the rope in order to reach out to Louis. "I want to suck you off."

Louis checks his phone, and Harry feels a moment of irritation before he chastises himself. Of _course_ Louis is checking the time - fuck knows Harry wouldn't be, not when he's like this, when he's relaxed and single-minded and not thinking of anything else but the sensation of being bound, when he's quiet and pliant and utterly submissive.

"Gotta make it quick," Louis says, sitting on the bed, and Harry nods eagerly, drops to his knees in a way that'll hurt later, shuffles forward until he's close enough to nuzzle against Louis' cock through his pants. Louis huffs and nudges him out of the way, hand drawing his hard dick out over the waistband of his trackies.

Harry leans in and takes the tip of Louis' cock into his mouth, pre-come hitting his tongue as he sucks at the head before hollowing his cheeks and trying to suck Louis down. His efforts are hindered, however, by the way Louis keeps a hand around the base of his cock. Harry makes an unhappy noise, prevented from getting Louis' cock in his throat.

"Got a show in two hours," Louis reminds him, gently bopping him on the nose. "You can make me come without taking me all the way down, can't you, Haz?"

Harry makes a noise of assent, and focuses on the weight of Louis' cock on his tongue as he sucks at the head, as Louis jacks himself roughly, faster and faster. Harry'd much prefer to be choking on dick right now, the feeling of his throat fluttering around Louis' hard cock, but he'll take what he can get, surprised that he's allowed even this, so close to a show.

Somewhere in the room, both their phones go off with Paul's text tone.

"Fifteen minutes," Louis says, panting now as he works his hand faster. "I'm going to come, H. You going to swallow it down for me, like a good boy?"

Harry flattens his tongue under the crown of Louis' dick in reply, sucking hard. He's rewarded a moment later with the taste of Louis' come spurting out over his tongue, and Harry swallows. He keeps swallowing until Louis is groaning and nudging him off, oversensitive and spent.

They sit like that for a moment, Harry with come on his tongue he doesn't want to swallow yet and Louis with his hand around his softening dick, until Louis groans and wipes his hand on his trackies. His gaze focuses on Harry again. "Hey," he says, reaching out to tap Harry's chin. "Swallow, yeah? You can have more later."

Harry pouts, but swallows.

Harry's own cock is nearly hard between his legs, flushed and full, but he shimmies into the jeans Louis sets out, tucking his dick carefully in as he zips them up.

"Jumper or shirt?" Louis asks, surveying Harry's open suitcase.

"Shirt," Harry decides.

"You'll have to keep it mostly buttoned," Louis says with a laugh, picking a neatly folded one out and throwing it at Harry. Harry pouts, but shrugs into it. Long-sleeved and patterned with... trees? Leaves? Something nature-y, and he buttons it almost all the way to the top. There'll be no flashing his tits at the crowd tonight, lest he scar them all with the knowledge that their supposedly straight boyband idol is actually quite fond of rope bondage. Then there's the fact that what Louis and Harry do with rope is private, their own personal exchange of power. Harry needs to feel safe, and cared for, and supported, and Louis provides. The fact that they both get off on it is just a bonus.

When they're dressed and heading down to the lobby, picking up security on the way, Harry knows Louis is giving Paul a heads-up, letting him know to carry his bandage shears on him for the rest of the night. Harry thinks that perhaps he should feel embarrassed, that other people know he needs this, that Louis ties a harness around his torso to make him feel safe. But instead, he feels ... safe. Light. Free of responsibility and stress and all the things that could drag him down, because he knows Louis is there for him.

The rope tied around his body allows for complete freedom of movement but it's firm enough against his skin that Harry feels restrained, that he can feel Louis against his skin, holding him tight and keeping him safe, a constant reminder that Louis is here for him - even when he's not physically touching Harry, the rope does it for him.

The show passes in a blur. It's an exhilarating high, the boys all seemingly in a great mood. Harry dances like an idiot with Liam and laughs with Zayn and does pirouettes up the catwalk with Niall, and every time he locks eyes with Louis, he feels that familiar warmth spread in his chest, knows he's loved and supported, even under bright lights in front of seventy thousand people. Harry laughs with the crowd and waves back and hits all his notes, mood held aloft by the sheer enjoyment he sees in the blur of faces. And when he goes in search of sustenance, when Louis joins him half-hidden in the wings as Harry looks for where he left his bananas during pre-show, and Louis runs his fingers over the lines of the rope, invisible under his shirt except if you know where to press -

"You're on fire out there, love," Louis says. "You're being so good for me.”  
  
There are a thousand things Harry could say to that, most of them some form of _yes thankyou please_ , but in this small moment between them, Harry is quiet and content, and just beams at the praise.  
  
“C’mon,” Louis says, voice gentle, “let’s go give them what they want, yeah? And then I’ll give _you_  what you want.” His smirk is wicked, and Harry’s cock is uncomfortable in his jeans, and suddenly he’s aware of everywhere the rope is touching his skin, the promise of it.  
  
The rest of the show passes torturously slow, Harry aware of every moment, the way the ropes shift with each movement, never tightening against his body but neither with a millimetre of give, just a constant presence against his skin. It feels like an age before they’re all piling into SUVs to head back to the hotel. They don’t stop for autographs in the hotel garage, and the small group of fans who’ve ducked in under the roller door after the cars start yelling, calling out to them. There’s endless repetitions of his name from behind the wall of security - _Harry! Harry! We want a photo! Harry! We’ve been waiting for days! Harry! Harry! Harry!_  
  
Harry ducks his head at the noise, hat shielding him from the camera flashes as they head inside. The fans are becoming bolder, shadowing their every move for days, screaming and crying and arguing with security. Most of them are minors, but some of them swear and yell when they don’t get their way, for all intents and purposes toddlers with a penchant for stalking. The constant following is draining, and leaves them all on edge. It’s an encounter that threatens Harry’s buoyant mood, the protection Louis has woven him from praise and a length of rope.   
  
Harry stumbles over his own feet even though he’s looking down, nearly crashing into Preston’s back in front of him. But then Louis is there, hand steady on his back, pressing down on the knot over his spine, and Harry can make it inside, can tune out the noise and put one foot in front of the other. It feels too long before they’re safely in their hotel room, every second another moment that the tense feeling creeps back into Harry’s skin, making him twitch.  
  
Eventually the door is closed and locked, and Harry kicks off his shoes in the dim hotel room, stands in the middle of the room and watches Louis flick on the lamps, but the peace of before is gone.  
  
“Hey,” Louis says, crossing over to Harry and kissing him gently. “It’s going to be okay.”  
  
Harry rolls his shoulders back, and his silence almost feels uncomfortable, instead of instinctive and _right._ He’s not really in that secure, safe place anymore, despite the way the woven harness still hugs his body.  
  
“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Louis says, and Harry believes him.  
  
Louis takes his time, despite the way Harry’s begun to fidget. He unbuttons Harry’s shirt slowly, revealing tanned skin and black rope. He draws it out, and every brush of his fingertips sees more tension fall from Harry’s shoulders, makes his cock harden that bit more in his jeans. Louis smiles as Harry relaxes more with every button undone, until he can draw the shirt off Harry’s shoulders and let it drop to the floor.  
  
“Pants off,” Louis says, voice low, palming himself through his own jeans.  
  
Getting Harry’s jeans off is a somewhat less graceful endeavour than putting them on was, now that he’s hard again  _and_ riding the post-show adrenaline high. Harry kicks the denim off and sinks to his knees, settling back with his arse on his heels, shoulders back and spine straight so Louis can have the best view of his work.  
  
“Beautiful,” Louis says, and the word sends a shiver up Harry’s spine, laden with promise. “You were so brilliant tonight, Haz,” Louis says, and he turns to rummage through the blue bag again, eventually deciding on another black rope. It looks to be nylon as well, the same as the rope currently tied around Harry, although the number of coils make Harry think it’s much shorter.  
  
“Arms out,” Louis tells him, and Harry hurries to comply, eager and willing, falling easily back into that safe place, where he’s eager to please and has nothing to be worried about, to be ashamed of. Louis smiles down at him, dropping one end of the rope. The coils brush against Harry’s thigh as they fall, and he bites his bottom lip at the sensation, every inch of his skin seemingly ultra-sensitive.  
  
“Everyone was looking at you tonight,” Louis continues, wrapping the rope around his wrists, together and separately, band after band tying them together, the binding beautiful and strong. “Strong, beautiful, invincible Harry up there on that stage.”   
  
Harry sighs when Louis gently presses Harry’s hands back towards his chest until he looks like he’s praying. When Louis takes the use of his hands from him, it’s a sign that Harry won’t have to interact with anyone else, won’t have to be aware or on show. It’s a sign that Harry can give himself over, that he’s free to sink into the light, floaty space where there is only Louis, where Harry has no tension or worries or responsibilities. Harry can float away, because Louis is there to take care of him, to give him what he needs.  
  
“But nobody could see this, Haz. Nobody but me knew just how strong you were, how loved, how protected. This,” Louis says, hooking his fingers into the binding on Harry’s shoulders, pulling it taut against his skin, “this was just for you and me.”  
  
Louis’ fingers are quick and nimble as they weave the end of the rope through the design on his chest, friction twists binding Harry’s hands to his torso, hooking under the loops at his biceps and pinning his upper arms to the sides of his chest until there’s almost no rope left. Louis doesn’t knot the end - he doesn’t need to, the clever work ensures that the rope holds without a knot, and Louis threads the end back through towards Harry’s bound wrists until he can close Harry’s fingers around the length. Harry takes the end gratefully; it’s something to hold on to, and he knows that by the time Louis uncurls his fingers from around the rope, there’ll be indents pressed into his skin.  
  
“Up,” Louis says, stepping back so Harry can unfold himself, rocking back on his heels before surging to his feet. It’s not the smoothest of movements, but it’s graceful enough that Louis’ expression turns hot. “On the bed for me,” Louis says. “Get that pretty arse in the air."  
  
There’s a towel spread horizontally on the bed, soft and dry, and Harry kneels just beneath it, bending forward over it carefully. His ab muscles strain and tense as he tries to lower his torso evenly, but eventually he just crashes to the bed, top heavy as he lands on his shoulders, sheets cool against his cheek and arse in the air.  
  
“My graceful Harry,” Louis says from behind him, and his tone is gentle, fond. A hand runs over Harry’s arse. “Best arse I’ve ever seen,” he says, and Harry feels himself flush, proud. The bed dips slightly as Louis moves into place behind him, and Harry all but trembles in anticipation as Louis’ clever fingers spread his arse cheeks.  
  
There’s the warm, wet sensation of Louis’ tongue at his hole, and Harry bites his lip, already sore from the rough treatment of his teeth. Louis licks out over the tightly furled muscle of Harry’s rim, and Harry worries his lip harder.  
  
Louis draws back, and Harry holds back a sob.  
  
“If I wanted you to be quiet I’d have gagged you,” Louis says, breath warm against his arse, and Harry’s mouth drops open on a moan.   
  
This time, when a broad swipe of Louis’ tongue sweeps over Harry’s hole, he mewls. Louis’ tongue teases at his rim, coaxing the muscle into giving around his tongue before pulling away to lave over the entire area, then teasing again. It’s too _good_ , and Harry thrusts his arse back to chase the sensation when Louis moves away.   
  
The crack of Louis’ hand across his arse cheek makes Harry jump, and he knows it’s a step too far.  
  
“Sorry!” Harry yelps. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be greedy, Louis!”  
  
“I know,” Louis soothes, hand rubbing at what is surely reddening skin. “But seeing you _were_ , greedy, that’s all you get, baby.”  
  
Harry _does_  sob this time, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as he inhales raggedly, cursing himself. He knows better. It’s not his job to chase his pleasure - Louis will give him what he needs, Louis will _always_  give him what he needs. Harry just has to be good, to give himself over and take what Louis sees fit to reward him with.  
  
Louis moves away, the weight on the bed shifting, and Harry’s breath hitches. He hasn’t been _that_  bad, surely, that Louis would just walk away? In his floaty, weightless place, the thought of disappointing Louis is unbearable.  
  
“Shhh,” Louis says. He doesn’t sound cross, at least. Harry holds his breath, listening for any clue as to how disappointed Louis is -  
  
There’s the familiar _snick_ of a cap opening, and Harry almost relaxes. It’s not until the bed dips again, though, until Louis runs a hand down Harry’s trembling thigh, that he breathes out, exhaling through his teeth in a hiss.  
  
“My silly Harry,” Louis says, voice fond. “I was coming back. I’ll _always_  come back, Haz. _Always_.”  
  
Harry feels his chest warm at that, happy and content, the worry of a moment before all but forgotten. There’s the touch of two slick fingers at his hole, a firm pressure that teases at his rim for a moment before steadily pressing inside, gentle but insistent and _perfect._  Harry can’t contain the noises spilling from his mouth, whines and little groans, doesn’t try. Louis said he wanted to hear Harry, and Harry is _good_. He does as he’s told.  
  
Louis is always thorough with prep but he knows Harry likes to feel it, knows Harry likes best when his body instinctually clamps down at first. Louis is giving Harry what he needs, what he loves, the stretch and the slight burn of preparation, the gentle thrusts of his fingers before he scissors them inside. Louis adds a third finger and lube, Harry’s rim slick as Louis stretches his arse open.  
  
Harry can do nothing but lie there and take it, arse in the air and torso pressed against the bed, arms bound to his chest and hands pinned beneath him. His arse clenches greedily around Louis’ fingers, and all too soon the digits are gone entirely. Harry pouts into the bed, feeling his rim twitch at the sudden emptiness. His world shrinks to that little muscle, needy and clenching, and it could be seconds or hours before it feels pressure again, Harry doesn’t know, loses track.  
  
The press of Louis’ cock comes eventually, head pressed against Harry’s hole. Harry wants nothing more than to thrust back against it, but he learned his lesson before, knows that Louis will give him what he needs.  
  
“Very good,” Louis says, obviously noting Harry’s restraint, and Harry basks in the praise.   
  
Louis thrusts in smoothly, deep and hard and perfect. Harry’s body clenches instinctively, tightens up before he can relax, but Louis fucks him through it, rocks his dick back and forth by tiny increments until Harry exhales loudly, body going lax and arse adjusting to the feeling of being full, of being _whole_  again. Louis settles a hand in the small of Harry’s back, fingers spread over skin and rope alike, and starts to thrust.  
  
Louis fucks like a wild thing, like he’s releasing all of _his_  tension into Harry’s body, which is pliant and receptive and willing to take it from him. Harry trembles with the force of every beautiful, hard thrust, every slide of Louis’ cock sending tingles dancing along his nerve endings, a pleasant burn and stretch Harry will feel for days. He won’t be able to wear the harness Louis has woven for him for days to come, but he’ll have this, the memory of floating above his worries and concerns, feeling only the sensations Louis has given him.  
  
“Feel so fucking _good_  like this,” Louis says against the skin of Harry’s back, bent over him now, pulling him back into Louis’ movements. The pace would be punishing if it wasn’t exactly what Harry wants, _needs,_  the feeling of Louis’ clever fingers at Harry’s nipple making him moan, then squeak as Louis moves his other hand so he can work both nipples at once, Louis’ chest brushing over the rope work at Harry’s back.  
  
Harry's breathing is uneven now, and he pants against the expensive sheet, sliding back and forth with every thrust. Louis straightens, using his grip on the rope harness to pull Harry back onto his cock, dicking deep into him with every thrust, an exquisite slide against his prostate. Harry’s cock strains at his belly, rubbing against the bottom rope across his stomach. It’s all at once too much sensation and yet not enough friction, and Harry feels frustrated tears well up in his eyes.   
  
Harry knows he’ll come eventually, that he’s been _good_ , and surely Louis will reward him by letting him come. But it feels too far off, chasing an orgasm that’s too far out of reach with Harry in his floaty place, almost like he’s somewhat disconnected from his body. If Louis wants Harry’s body to come, it will, but it hasn’t been given permission yet, so Harry just rides the pleasure Louis is giving him, overwhelmed and unable to come.  
  
“I’m going to count down,” Louis says, and he words are familiar. “I’m going to count down from three, and you’re going to come for me, baby. Do you understand?”  
  
Harry understands, but he must not respond, because Louis thrusts in _hard_ , says again, louder, “Do you understand, Harry?”  
  
 _“Nyeghh,”_  Harry manages, and Louis laughs, low and hot.  
  
“Very good,” Louis says, and his own voice is ragged. “Okay, baby. Three.” He thrusts in hard, draws back jackrabbit-fast and dicks back in. “Two.”  
  
Harry’s muscles tense, every inch of his body taught and on the edge, waiting for Louis’ signal, his permission -  
  
“ _One,_ ” Louis says, and Harry’s world goes white.  
  
When Harry emerges far enough from his floaty place to be aware of his body again, it’s to the touch of Louis’ fingers on his skin. He’s on his back, Harry notes absently, Louis kneeling up over him.  
  
“You were so good for me,” Louis croons, fingers making quick work of the knots as Harry lies pliant, muscles orgasm-slack and limp with exhaustion. “You’re always so good for me."  
  
When he moves away to put the ropes on the bedside table, Harry makes an unhappy noise, still too far under to form words.  
  
“Shhh,” Louis says. “It’s okay, H, I’m not going anywhere.” He rubs at Harry’s hands, checking them for warmth and circulation before he settles on his back beside Harry.  
  
Harry wastes no time in wrapping himself around Louis, head on the other man’s chest and legs tangled together. Louis laughs, but it’s not mean, and he wriggles around to draw the covers up and over them, Harry drowsy and warm and just as safe pressed against Louis as he was in his harness.  
  
Down to bare skin again, stripped down to themselves, they sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment below, or come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.downintinpanalley.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
